Letter to My Former Self ||Bakushima||

//7// dumb question

Chapter is currently unedited, sorry

Kirishima POV

        A peaceful silence filled the room. Just me laying down on Bakugou's chest, half asleep, my mind elsewhere. Bakugou on the other hand had already drifted into a calm doze.
Mom hasn't been able to remember that much about anything in so long. Not since she told me about the house. The details of it. Each room, each scratch on the kitchen floor, the living room which only ever consisted of a fifty-year-old couch and a rug that came with the property. That day was months ago. Today.. the way she spoke about my father as if it was nothing, common knowledge and she was just ranting. Why would mom think he'd protect me if he hadn't gotten arrested that same night? What kind of a person was he? Why don't I have any memories of him unlike mom? Is he still in jail? God, today's been nothing but a bad headache. I want to get some sleep but that sounds like mission impossible right now.
I feel his chest rise and fall and he lets out a tired groan.
"Sorry Bakugo, didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't worry, you didn't. Did you get any sleep at all?" I shake my head lightly.
"I couldn't."
He sighs. "Well, hey, I'm right here if you want to talk about anything that happened." No, I've been too much of a bother already.
"I'm fine." I look down, away from his eyes.
        "You don't have to lie to me. You know that. I'm here for you."
        I pause, cautiously trying to word myself mentally because if I stay quiet for too long chances are he'll just drop it. Would he though? Whatever, here goes nothing.
        "My mom hasn't been able to remember that much in forever. All she ever talked about was faint memories of me when I was really young. Ages four through eleven, on one occasion thirteen, but nothing more. And if the memories weren't about me, than the house. The house was old and rundown, and very small. Two bedrooms, a kitchen and living room which connected, and a tiny bathroom." I go quiet again, but only for a second. "She referred to it as 'that dammed house'. Her parents owned it. She used to have wild memories getting beer bottles flung at her, knives thrown at walls, intoxicated adults banging on doors and screaming cruel things to her. It was like all her trauma was trapped in that house, and that no matter what, as long as she lived there she was still that helpless kid. I mean, that's how she felt. And I feel the same way. I wasn't beat nearly as much as I was ignored. I still remember smiling when my mom hit me for the first time. I smiled because it was the most attention she'd ever given me. Except now because of me she doesn't remember anything."
        "What does that mean? You're saying you're responsible for your moms memory loss?" I bring my hand up, entangling my hair awkwardly.
        "Car accident." If only I couldn't remember it either. "I yelled at her for the first time, and she panicked." I shut my eyes, trying to trap tears. "It all happened so quick but in the moment.. her face coming to contact with the glass shards.. it all happened in slow motion." Bakugou didn't respond. I couldn't tell if he was preparing his words or he fell asleep. That's how still he felt at the moment.
        I got up, swinging my legs over the bed, about to stand, but I was being held back. He was hugging me; with his arms wrapped around my waist.
        "Don't blame yourself for something like that. It's not your fault, Kiri." There he goes again. Years ago I would've killed to have those words spoken to me. I don't know why, but now it's just hard believe.
"Thanks," I sigh. "Um.. we should get out of here."
        "Good call."

In his car, we sat in silence. I didn't mind it much, but I kinda wanted to talk to him about something. Anything that wasn't.. trauma. I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Tried turning it on to see if I had any texts but it was dead.
        "You wouldn't happen to have a charger, would you?" I asked.
        "Glove compartment." He responded flatly. I sigh, opening it up. Not much in here. A charger, which I grab, some unopened mail, and a little case made form a leather-like material. A polaroid picture case: black, small and thin for storing photos. Curiously, I take it out, closing the glove compartment as I do so. The case wasn't very full. I opened it, pulling out three photos: one, a picture of him at a very young age, I'm guessing elementary school. The photo's blurry so I'm assuming another kid took it. Two, a picture of him and his sister on halloween all dressed up. He was a werewolf and she was a witch. And three, a—
        "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bakugo snatched the pictures from my hand. I flinched at the abrupt action, and felt horribly guilty.
        "I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to be nosy I was just curious.." I plead.
        "Yeah well don't be." He glares at the pictures before shoving them in his pocket.
        I don't know what came over me, because I hate asking people about there personal lives, but something just.. spiked me.
       "How come you never talk about your home life?"
        "There's nothing to talk about." He quickly snaps back.
        I sighed, not wanting to directly push the questions, so I decide to work around it.
        "Why do you have so many pictures of your sister? You two must've been close. Where is she now—"
        "Shut it, Kirishima." I was honestly hurt. This guy knew everything about my home life yet he won't even spare me a piece of his. There obviously isn't nothing to talk about if he's getting so heated.
       "Fine, sorry." I leaned back in the car seat, practically slamming my head against the headrest. So much for making conversation. I stayed like this for a few seconds: staring out the window, partially sad and partially pissed. I think Bakugo took notice.
        "I'm sorry." He said it rashly, but still truthful nonetheless. "I just don't like talking about my sister. She.. had a rough life." To this my eyebrows furrow upward, and now I really feel sorry. I should've expected there was an emotional reason he didn't want to talk. I'm such an idiot.
        "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to push the subject."
        "It's fine. I get where your coming from. I now all this shit about your terrible home life and I don't tell you anything about mine. I don't know.. I guess sheltering myself has sort of become my coping mechanism. Sorry."
       "Not a very healthy coping mechanism." I say, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.
        "I guess."
        "However.. a good coping mechanism is talking about your trauma to people who care about you. And would you look at that: I'm somebody who cares about you." Bakugo smiles lightly through the side of his mouth.
        He takes a deep breath, and his smile fades. "My sister.. killed herself when we were really young. She was eleven, I was thirteen." He sighed again. I was taken aback, but not greatly, because I think somewhere in my brain I had already theorized that. Still, I was hurt to hear it. Bakugo's voice sounded distant, like he wasn't really in the car.
        "I'm sorry to hear about that. That must've been hard to go through at such a young age."
"Yeah. But the worst part is that I feel like I could've done something. We went to the same school but never saw each other much. She was in sixth grade and I was in eighth. Not to mention she was autistic so she spent a lot of time in the special ed class. I was always too focused on myself getting into UA that I never really asked her about her life but.. I feel like the signs should've been obvious. She never hung out with any friends, she got bad grades, she stopped smiling and being herself, and for some reason, I just never asked a about it. I thought she was just sad, and it would pass. I mean, I hated myself too at her age. But if only I'd asked I would've learned it was much, much deeper then that." His eyes were glassy. I could see the reflection of the windshield and the little rain drops that hit it. "When I first invited you to sleepover, I saw my sister in you. Just.. sad and in need of someone. That's why I helped you." He didn't make eye contact with me the entire time he spoke. His free hand laid limp resting on the compartment box separating our seats. I grabbed it, and interwind our fingers.
"She would be proud to see who you came out to be." It wasn't much, but all I could think to say. I was just happy he was finally talking about it.
        He pulled the polaroid back out from his pocket. I saw the third photo. She was smiling, in a way that said "take a picture of me!" She was very beautiful. Beautiful in a way where you know she'd been told it her whole life. He looked at the pictures for a moment
        "She took this one." He smiled, looking back at the road but still talking. "She always loved stealing my camera and taking photos of things. I always yelled at her when she tried to take a photo of me." He flipped the photos, now showing the one of just her. "And she always loved it when other people took photos of her. My mom told her she should be a model."
        "She was really pretty." I comment. He nodded.
        "In a way I was jealous because she was always the one who got all the complements growing up." He laughed a little. He put the photos back in the case then put them back in his pocket. "So yeah, there's that." He ended.
        "Hey, Bakugo," I say to him before he exists the car. He looked at me with a raised brow but doesn't say anything. "Thanks for talking to me."
        He smiles again. His faint, light hearted grin. "Thanks for listening."

AN: I am so sorry for going on such a long hiatus. I was checked into a rehab shortly after uploading chapter 6 and was unable to work on the story. This chapter is rushed, and takes me a step back because now I have to replan the ending, but I hope you enjoy it. I'm just glad to be home and working on my writing again :)